


One Chance, One Dance, One Metal Petal

by Tav



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angst, Chasing, Coming Out, Discrimination, EXTREME SEXUAL TENSION, Hate Crime, Homophobia, M/M, Metal romance, Out of Character, Pining, True Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2017-01-22
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Charles, a simple high school English teacher meets the school’s new Metal Shop teacher (really, is that even a legitimate subject?), he has no idea how much his monotonous, dull, closeted life is going to change. And it isn’t just Mr. Lehnsherr that forces him to question, to challenge his way of life and obsession to appear as what society deems as ‘normal’. It isn’t just Erik that makes him finally stand for what he’s always known is right.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I made the mistake of X-men marathoning ( shush -that’s a word) this weekend… and this was born. The obsession is back and has to be sated so I can move on with life. I really hope you enjoy this, feedback is always loved!!!  
> All mistakes are my own! Apologies in advance. I find myself writing at work during designs when my head wonders :-P …. Which is most of the time lol. So try enjoy… I DID ARTWORK!!!... Not sure if the link will work but its worth a try right? *grins*
> 
> https://40.media.tumblr.com/6e620338442e2df8a8fd07715754320e/tumblr_nw9w3m8S0L1uj9dr8o1_540.jpg

Charles is immediately certain that the new metal shop teacher is a comic book villain. And this was even before the stranger decided to utter the words ,“Hello Clarisse” from behind an old, dirty mask, refusing to put down the blow torch long enough to shake Charles’s extended hand. And the workshop seemed several notches darker because Mr. Metal villain actually stopped emitting blue flames from the torch in his hand the second he realized he wasn’t alone anymore. 

“That’s brilliant,” Mr. Shaw is laughing beside Charles, all but boyishly bouncing on his heels. “I told you he was funny. Didn’t I tell you?” 

And of course his boss would find this amusing considering how Charles is always half expecting to find Shaw stroking a white Chinchilla on his lap whenever he is called into the principal’s office.

”Charming,” Charles says simply, viewing his palm for oil stains or smudges or possible third degree burns that may have ruined his skin during their brief handshake.

Charles takes a second to evaluate the shake. Firm. Sure. Intrusive. 

Intrusive, only because Charles is unable to see the other man’s eyes, yet the metal villain hasn’t stopped trying to sort out his behind the safety of perfectly tinted plastic. Charles could feel the other man unashamedly trying to look through him from the moment Mr. Shaw tapped his large shoulder and waved a hand in Charles general direction. 

“This is the man I was telling you about.” Shaw had said and no matter how many smile wrinkles etched the principal’s face, Charles could not feel anything other than pure humiliation and complete rage. Because, of all the staff members in the oversized school, Shaw would always call him - just him- when any sort of assistance was needed over the weekend or on the odd school holiday. 

“I can’t very well pull people away from their families,” was the excuse Shaw always used. “You’re the only one alone and pathetic with nobody to actually miss your absence from your empty apartment,” was what Charles always heard. Because Shaw had actually used those exact words one time when Charles was refusing to spend Valentine’s Day chaperoning a school dance with a bunch of other single parents. Pitiful, single parents with absolutely no celebratory plans or surprise romantic expectations. So Charles had spent the night watching difficult teenagers dance awkwardly, guarding the punch bowl and keeping a hand between bodies that attempted to get too close. Happy bloody Valentine’s Day to him. 

“Charles Xavier,” Charles finally adds matter-of-factly just in case this man really thinks his name is Clarisse. “Welcome to Dalton High School.”

“Thank you Charlie,” is the man’s muffled response as he removes his mask.

And Charles is about to correct him, possibly even politely inform him that the last man who made the mistake of calling him Charlie has been missing for months. But the villain has revealed his identity and Charles’ every assumption about him up until that moment are confirmed. Because no man with a smile that broad and menacing, eyes so darkly intense can be anything short of pure evil. 

“Erik Lehnsherr,” he nods. And with his voice unaffected by the annoying safety wear, Charles can hear the slight unidentifiable accent and the devastatingly low roughness. And Charles can practically hear the stormy rumble it will carry in a classroom when Erik is in a foul mood because only two students decided that the assignment he issued two weeks ago was actually worth completing on the day he’d ordered them all to be. “It was awfully nice of you to offer to show me around on such short notice, I know I’m earlier than anyone had anticipated. How typically British of you.”

And every syllable is carefully pronounced and violently silky, exactly the type of sound Charles thinks Erik’s grey eyes would make if eyes could speak. So enticing are his eyes that Charles almost overlooks the fact that he might have just been insulted. Shaw’s chuckle snaps him back from his distracted study of the sharp contours that make up Erik’s face in an almost renascence fashion. 

“Excuse me, typically British?” 

“Courteous,” Erik supplies without an ounce of apprehension as if the word had been followed by that exact definition in a private dictionary he’s relied on for years. 

“Well, it could have been worse,” Shaw gives Charles a none too gentle pat on the back. “At least he didn’t say queer, right?”

Charles wonders if Shaw actually deserves an award for going a full three days without repeating that tired joke. It is, after all, a personal record for him. Erik loses yet more points for feigning amusement. 

“I’ll leave you gents to it,” Shaw announces his departure before whistling his way out of the workshop and down the school corridor. Straight back to hell, Charles assumes. 

“Or The Berghof,” Erik scoffs. It takes Charles a second to realize that his own last thoughts might not have been nonverbal at all. “Is he always like that?” 

“You mean a smug git?” 

“I was going to say a tyrannous, pompous fuck,” Erik shrugs. “But I’m clearly not even two percent as British as you are.” 

Any points Erik may have recurred in that short span of ten seconds where they actually found something to agree upon, burst into flames.

“Okay, you have exactly one full minute to get all the British jokes out of your system,” Charles snaps, barely noticing Erik start as he squares his shoulders and takes a step further into the far too airless workshop. “So I suggest you use these sixty seconds wisely. Because, once they are up I refuse to be held accountable for my lack of said Britishness towards you. Go on, want a shot at the queen maybe? The war? My inability to ingest any beverage apart from tea out of a tiny floral cup with my pinky in the air? Out with it, then.”

The silence in the room is suddenly deafening as the two men do nothing more than stare at each other. And Charles notices Erik lips are parted, as if he wants to say something but the words are repeatedly interrupted by the in and out-take of air that’s causing his chest to rise and fall in a terribly distracting, animalistic sort of way. And the muscle in Erik’s arms twitch, forcing Charles to become well aware of the hideous mass of strength that lies beneath the plain white t-shirt. The power outlining his shoulders and straightening his back. The long denim clad legs that make him unfairly towering, reminding Charles of his own frustrating years of vertical challenges. 

“Forgive me if I offended you,” Erik says lowly. And Charles is concerned about the fact that he doesn’t have to strain to hear words whispered so softly, not with Erik’s lips suddenly mere inches from his burning ear. He’s concerned by the fact that he hadn’t noticed Erik cover the distance between them, like the man had slithered towards him, hypnotizing him on the way so that the only movement he’d been able to make was to grip the edge of a splintering desk beside him. For purchase, for strength, with white knuckles, because his knees were becoming weaker with every twitch of his traitorous cock. With every wave of heat Erik’s chest punched against his own. Charles could practically feel Erik’s musky, virile, brute scent stroking the hair at the back of his neck, touching the sensitive trail from his navel down. Skimming gently over his pink lips which made it physically impossible for him not to lick them. “I’m not used to remaining quiet about things that excite me so much.” 

Charles mumbles something embarrassingly incoherent, something not even he can decipher over the thundering of his heart as Erik pushes past him. Not hard, but hard enough to rock him back on his heels, swaying ever so gently as he lets out the breath he’d been holding. 

Not even ten minutes, Charles thinks. Not even ten minutes alone with Erik and he’d already managed to make a complete and utter fool of himself.

“That tour, Mr. Xavier?” Erik says from the door. When Charles thinks he’s sane enough to turn to the other man, it is to be greeted by Erik’s wolfish smile.

“Let’s get this over with, then,” Charles grumbles, feigning annoyance as he pushes past the taller man and out of the suffocating workshop. And he has every intention of making this the last time he ever has to deal with Erik alone, because there’s only so much humiliation a man can take before spontaneously combusting. 

So Erik Lehnsherr might not be a real comic book villain, Charles concedes. But the man is dangerous. Inexplicably, and utterly dangerous.  
*****  
“Right,” Charles slaps his hands together, nods his head and points to the ground as he begins to walk down the hallway. “These are the floors or what we here, like most other human beings, like to call corridors due to the suffocating stretch of walls and rows of lockers that line them. You might notice that every few steps apart you are greeted by a door-”

“You mean these things?” Charles is forced to stop his hurried advance and look back at Erik who is running his hand over the wooden surface with such fascination that Charles almost buys it. Almost feels guilty for being so rude and flippant himself.

But Charles can’t shake his earlier annoyance entirely even though it has decreased considerably. He keeps thinking about how none of this would have happened had he been left to his weekend like everyone else. A full two days of forgetting that children exist and how bells control actions , left to grade essays in his bathrobe with a few too many takeout boxes pilling up on his black leather living room couch. 

“What do they do?” Erik says as he twists the handle and frights by the way it snaps back in place once released. Charles rolls his eyes when Erik points at the brass knob with a ‘did you just see that?’ look plastered on his face. 

“They’re the only things that stand between you and chambers that harbor the most felonious form of human being,” Charles begins his march again so that Erik cannot see the slight smile that tugs the corner his lips. “And sometimes the teachers have students with them as well.” 

When Erik bursts out laughing, it’s genuine and contagious and carries through the hallways like an annoying tune that threatens the possibility of growing on you with time. What had started off as a tour through the school that was intended on leaving Erik feeling stupid and annoyed and a waste of Charles’ time, results in the two men trying to out-flippant each other, laughing with each of Erik’s new discoveries.

Because surely Erik has never seen a student message board or a cafeteria. There is no way he knows that a fire extinguisher is actually used to extinguish fires. And so the two of them go from the sports field to the library where Charles promises to teach Erik how to play this new strange and fascinating game called chess. From the teachers’ parking lot to the auditorium where Charles introduces Erik to the first group of students they’ve run into so far. And they stay for a few minutes longer watching the drama club run through lines for their upcoming production of Grease. And Charles pretends not to notice how the girls are already gushing over Erik, asking too many questions, stammering over their lines, giggling sweetly whenever he acknowledges them with that vicious smile. They stay until the drama teacher shoos them out, declaring that they are distracting the class. 

There are moments when they simply walk in silence for a few steps too far and Erik asks Charles something way too personal for Charles liking. 

“So, what do you teach?” 

“Students,” Charles says, because he can be impossibly stubborn sometimes. 

“”Why did you leave England?” 

“To come to America,” Charles says simply, paying next to no attention to the twitch in Erik’s jaw. 

“Do you have family here?”

“Ah, splendid,” Charles smiles tightly. He is well aware of the fact that the two of them have covered nearly every inch of the school, inside and out. He’s aware that it wasn’t entirely necessary and will never ever admit that he’d only done it because he had actually, ever so slightly, been enjoying himself. He’s deeply grateful when there is one ‘landmark’ left. Because there is absolutely no way that Charles is going to share any sort of information about his family with a perfect stranger. Be said information evasive of not. “This, Mr. Lehnsherr, is the final and most exquisite stop of this wondrous tour.” 

“Whatever could it be?” Charles secretly marvels at how Erik still insists on playing along despite the fact that they both know what the next door will open to due to the obvious sign on the door. Despite the fact that Charles has not been subtle at all about the fact that Erik is not worth knowing a single thing about him. Despite the fact that they have been doing this for over an hour. 

It is alright. 

After this day, Erik will just be Mr. Lehnsherr. Just another member of the faculty that he greets politely in the morning. Smiles at and sits two seats away from in the teachers’ lounge. Casually complains to about the weather when every single other living person in the school seems to be doing it as well.

“Take a look at this,” Charles opens the janitor’s closet, looking smug as if he’s just introduced Erik to Narnia. And he watches Erik’s eyes widen and sees his face flush. He thinks that maybe he should suggest to Shaw that Erik take over the drama class and not just because the current drama teacher is a few slices short of a full loaf. 

“I think I like this room,” Erik mutters under his brief with a short huff. 

Charles chuckles shortly, shaking his head before looking in for the first time himself. He’s moments away from shutting the closet door when he’s forced do a double take before he too is openly staring at something he’s not quite sure he’s seeing correctly. 

But his mind is not playing games with him. It certainly is Alex Summers in the cramped, cluttered closet. Alex, the captain of the football team and student body president. Alex, the all American, American straight-A student with national colors in nearly everything he’s taken on since hitting high school. Alex, the senior Charles always hears the girls talk about, the boys envying, the teachers praising. 

Alex, standing there looking like a deer caught in headlights with his hair askew and pants half open and face turning too red to deem safe. 

And Hank McCoy. Quiet, nerdy, ‘Brainiac Hank’ looks absolutely no better.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoops, unedited again. 
> 
> THANKS SO MUCH for the kudos and reviews. Will reply to them properly when Im not always in the office. 
> 
> Happy reading!

Charles decides that stranger things have happened. Over the past three years of teaching at Dalton High School, he’s witnessed the Sex-Ed teacher grab the Lunch Lady’s bum. He’s also witnessed the Lunch Lady pouring scorching hot soup over the Sex-Ed’s lap. Both on separate occasions. 

Charles has confiscated a travelling note, feeling slightly nauseated after reading it since he was certain that no ninth grader should even know what the hell snow-blowing is, let alone conduct such an act with his half cousin over a family gathering. The fact that she was, quote – unquote, super slutty and smoking hottt (with three Ts) should not have made it an exception at all. From that day on, Charles decided never to read a letter passed around in class again. 

And just when Charles thought he’d gotten over his short-term fear of reading anything written by a student, young Ms. Salvadore, one of his more rebellious seniors had taken his afterschool-special talk the wrong way. 

“Angel,” Charles had sighed, running his hands tiredly over his face. He’d been through this exact same speech with a dozen other dispassionate students. “If your scores don’t improve, you might have to repeat the year.” 

“I can’t help it Mr. X,” she’d rolled her eyes, bouncing her crossed leg anxiously and chewing loudly on a pink piece of gum. “What good is creative writing gonna do for me. The prompts are either ancient or just plain boring and I’m so not interested.” 

“You see that’s the problem. You have to-” Charles sat up straighter, leaning across the table with what he had hoped was his own passion for writing sparkling in his eyes. “You have to find what ignites your fire, Angel. What gets you excited. What thrills your entirety. And then you take that - you take your passion and force it to walk down the aisle with the topic no matter how pathetic it may be because I assure you, by the time they’re done swopping vows, the only way to consummate this new spectacular relationship will be to pour it out on paper. And it will be so passionate that their happily ever after will write itself.” 

And when Angel had smiled the first genuine smile he’d ever seen on her, thanked him vigorously and left his classroom with a new found skip in her step, Charles had thought he might be a good teacher after all. Charles even felt eager for submission day, keen to see if his speech had helped at all, only to find himself cringing through one hundred and twenty words of how Captain Shaw very explicitly showed Cabin-boy Charles exactly who his captain was. 

Charles never again used the prompt, “The storm began right after we ransacked the ship…” 

Charles nearly burned his Pirates of the Caribbean collection. 

“No, I can not!” Charles had snapped almost too quickly before walking away that very same day when Principal Shaw grinned at him and said, “I know you can take it”. Which resulted in some other teacher taking second period Science class for a suddenly ill Mrs. MacTaggert. 

Yes, stranger things have happened, but it still does not alleviate the extent of how strange it was seeing Hank shove Alex away and all but trip over his unfastened pants as he stumbled out of the closet and run down the hallway, pushing aside a still stunned Erik and Charles in the process. 

Alex did try to go after him, seeming more interested in making sure that Hank was alright and less like trying to get away from Charles and Erik. The desperation in his voice as he called after Hank was laced in far too much distress. But Charles by then had come about his wits enough to quickly stop Alex’s advance. 

“Please Mr. X,” Alex says again as he has been the whole way up the stairs to Charles’ classroom. “Please. I gotta go see if he’s alright. You don’t know how he is about this. He’s probably freaking out right now.” 

“Like you are,” Charles raises a brow from across the table, feeling some of Alex’s uneasiness spill over to his side. “Mr. Lehnsherr will find him and make sure he’s alright. Don’t worry. We’re dealing with you now.” 

“I don’t care about myself, Mr. X,” Alex rocked in his chair, a picture boy for aggravation. “I don’t care who the hell knows about me. Report me, let me lose it all. I don’t care. Just please don’t report Hank. I’m begging you. Please, Sir.” 

“Relax, Alex,” Charles actually feels the need to reach across and touch the boy’s fidgeting hands. He doesn’t feel bad when Alex flinches away. Alex is clearly on edge and hadn’t seen it coming with the way his eyes keep fixing on the door. Charles has honestly never seen Alex this out of character before. “I’m not going to tell anyone anything. No one is going to be reported. But you have to give me some answers.” 

Alex’s shoulders seem to drop for the first time since the incident occurred as he lets out a long breath. The glazed over look in his eyes is a mixture of stale mortification and a fresh sense of relief. Like how Charles imagines one would look after been given thirty seconds to live and then instantly granted another life on their last breath. 

“I thought you were supposed to be a Saturday detention monitor,” Charles finally speaks when Alex’s breathing is even enough and his fists voluntarily unclench. There is still a slight tremble in them when Charles places his palm over one, trying in his own way to reassure Alex that it is a question to which no answer will lead to punishment. 

“I am, Sir.” Alex shrugs, his decorated blazer giving away the answer before Alex even has to. Somewhere amongst the sports merits and Academic badges shines a silver one clearly stating said duty. Alex has always reminded Charles of a highly ranked military veteran as opposed to the seventeen year old kid that he is. “Hank and I both are. It’s the only way we can see each other on weekends without sparking suspicion. He’s always coming up with these stupid ways to make people assume we’re on the same fucking hemisphere for no other reason than strictly business. I just wanna come out, Sir.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive my language, Mr. X,” he bows his head respectfully and Charles is about to tell him to fuck the school rules for a moment. For some bizarre reason this feels so far away from a school-related anything that Charles almost forgets he’s a teacher. 

“No, Alex,” Charles urges softly, “the last part.” 

“I want to come out?” Alex raises his eyes for the first time in ages. And there’s something of the veteran that sparks behind the blue that makes Charles hold his breath. Something Charles never seems to find in himself. Its bravery, certainty, an altogether different desire to fight whomever and whatever for inner peace. “I do want to. I have for a long time. But if I do come out, I’ll lose Hank. Hank isn’t ready at all. Some days I think he never will be.” 

“But he does feel the same way about you?” Charles asks far too carefully, never once having thought he would ever be having such a conversation. Not with Alex. Not about Hank. “I mean, he is okay with what you two do behind closed doors. With what you were doing just now.” 

It takes Alex a moment, but when it does dawn on him, he pulls his hand away from Charles and his eyes go dark. 

“Of course it’s fucking consensual,” the words sound disgusting against Alex’s tongue. “Do you think I’d actually…. Why the fuck would I-“

“Alex,” Charles pushes himself to his feet and circles the table, placing his hands on the blond boy’s shoulders to stop Alex from pacing. “Alex, look at me. I didn’t mean to offend you. I had to ask considering the type of friends you associate with have done nothing but give Hank and boys like Hank nothing but a hard time. Now, I know you have never been reported for any hostility towards your peers, but you have to understand that you are under heavy surveillance by the faculty due to guilt by association. Some of those twats are even rooting for your downfall, but believe me, my friend, I am not one of them.” 

“Hank loves me, Mr. X,” Alex says softly, seemingly a lot calmer than moments before. The certainty in his tone, his words, his eyes soften Charles chore. Makes Charles envious because there has never been a moment in his life that he could say that about anyone and believe it himself. “And the only thing I’ve ever pushed him into doing is coming out. I’ve promised him I would protect him, no matter what. With everything I have. I’d be his fucking bodyguard. He’d never have to fight the world alone. He’s the only one I wanna spend all my time with anyway. Studying…. At recess. But he insists I stay with my so called friends even when they do give him a hard time. Just to hide what we have. And it kills me, Sir, watching it happen and not being able to do anything about it because it’s what he wants. It hurts.” 

Charles absently raises a hand to wipe away the single tear that he can’t seem to keep his eyes off of, but Alex moves his face away and does it himself more clumsily. Almost seeming irritated by its very existence.   
“You’re a very brave young, Alex,” Charles squeezes his shoulders to further stress his words. “You have a very admirable character, but perhaps now isn’t the time. High school is a hard enough for everyone as is and you have your entire life ahead of you-”

“So what,” Alex frowns, “I should just pretend to be what I’m not for the next semester just because some people think what I am is wrong. Then leave town and go off to college having taken the easy way out. I can’t do that, Sir. Because that would just prove to everyone that there really is something wrong with me. And I don’t wanna wake up every day thinking back to how I never stood up for myself, how I lived a lie half my life, how I let them make me scared. Let them win. That might be okay for some people, but it isn’t for me.” 

*****

Charles is alone behind his desk, staring into the empty classroom when the door finally creaks open. The knock only comes after the door is closed and Charles looks up to see Erik standing there, watching him carefully with raised eyebrows. 

“I have to teach you how to use those,” Charles smiles and he can’t believe how much he had actually subconsciously missed Erik’s grin in such a short span of time. “Some first day, huh.” 

Erik simply nods and shoves his hands into his pockets, taking each step slower than necessary. It’s nearly annoying and Charles finds himself holding his breath until Erik is finally spinning around the chair across from him and straddling it rebelliously.

“How did it go with Hank?” Charles asks, trying not to focus on how dangerously calm Erik looks right then, with his arms crossed over the chairs back and his chin resting on the back of his wrist. At that angle, Erik is forced to look up for their eyes to meet, dark lashes framing the storm that Erik is trying to pass off as an actual eye color. 

“Well, I did actually find him in the lab’s storeroom like Blondie said I would.”

“Alex.” 

“No, Hank.” 

Charles rolls his eyes.

“And he was a blubbering mess as expected,” Erik reaches a hand out to fiddle with Charles’ favorite pen and Charles has to use his utmost restraint to keep from hitting it away. “And he asked me what the hell I’m doing there.” 

“And?” Charles asks quickly for two reasons. Firstly, because he really wants to know and Erik seems to be doing just about everything way too slowly. And secondly, he needs a major distraction from how Erik starts drawing something on the back of his hand. The strokes are consistently gentle but deliberate as if Erik already knows exactly what he wants the outcome to look like. 

“Then I sat down beside him,” Erik shifts up and forward, slipping his free hand beneath Charles’ palm, holding him at a better angle. Charles feels his ears burn at the contact, of how warm and gentle the touch is from such calloused and long fingers. He refuses to look down at their joined hands, refuses to dwell on how different it feels from the first time they shook hands when it was mandatory and brief and not by a man who had made him hard. Who is making him hard. 

Charles keeps his eyes on the top of Erik’s head.

“And he asked me who I was,” Erik says, angling his head as he puts all of himself into what he is inking on Charles’ skin. He pulls Charles’ hand closer, close enough for Charles to feel Erik’s breath hit his skin and Charles closes his eyes. Tries to focus. Scolds himself for not just pulling his hand away. Asks himself why he hasn’t yet. “Then I just wrapped my arm around his shoulder. And then he cried on mine for a full ten minutes.” 

“And?” Charles hates how his voice has lowered into something of a whisper as if the moment requires stillness. Or warmth. Charles realizes he is going crazy because this is nothing more than two colleagues who have just met, one having no sense of what is considered socially acceptable. 

Erik looks up at him frowning as if Charles is ridiculous for even asking such a question and from this close, in this light, Charles can see splashes of blue and flecks of green dancing in the storm. 

“He thanked me and went home,” Erik shrugs before continuing his unknowingly, deadly assault on Charles hand, because Charles knows that Erik is soon going to feel the building dampness between their palms. He is going to feel Charles tremble if he keeps running the black ballpoint pen over that particularly sensitive spot just beneath his third knuckle. Charles had never known before now that his hands were so sensitive. 

“And that’s it?” it’s Charles’ turn to frown, eyes snapping open when ten seconds pass and Erik has said nothing more.

“Sometimes, Charles, a shoulder is all you need,” Erik says. “I was there once. I know.” 

“You were there?” Charles can’t stop himself for asking before the words are already hanging between them and Erik is chuckling. 

But Erik says nothing.

And Charles feels too stupid to think.

When Erik finally sits up, he looks down at his work and the smile curling his lips forces Charles to look down as well. 

“Do you like roses?” Erik asks quietly. Charles can feel Erik’s eyes on him but he can’t seem to stop tracing the simple yet effectively doodled flower on his skin. It’s almost tribal yet elegant. All smooth edges and sharp corners, each petal placed as if it belonged there before ever being drawn. “When was the last time someone gave you a rose, Charles?” 

Charles watches absently as Erik’s thumb brushes delicately over the flower. The fact that he is more concerned about the possibility of the rose smudging than the insanity of the moment forces him to snap his hand away. To wipe his sweaty palm on his thigh. To get home. To stay as far away from Erik as humanly possible while working under the same building. 

“It’s been a long day,” Charles lies, busying himself with straightening papers on his desk that are already straight and shuffling others into files that don’t need filing at home. “We should call it a day.” 

“We can walk out toge-”

“Please leave, Erik,” Charles stops what he’s doing altogether, giving Erik the look he reserves for misbehaving children because it is the only one he is sure that he has mastered enough not to fumble. Not even in front of Erik. 

Erik’s jaw clenches twice before he nods. And Charles so desperately wants the other man to leave so that his breathing can be regular once again. But After standing, Erik stops, gives Charles an almost sad smile before patting his own shoulder gently three times. Suggestively. Knowingly.

And so even after the door is closed. And the classroom is empty. And he is alone. Charles still finds himself unable to breathe.


	3. Chapter 3

Charles makes the most unusual discovery when he reaches into his pocket for his classroom keys. He’s standing in the corridor, sliding the small bunch out of his coat, ready to lock up and head home, when a coin drops to the floor. Charles never keeps change in his pockets and is slightly mystified when he crouches down to retrieve the piece of silver. Only, it isn’t a coin at all. 

Charles inspects the alien piece of metal, the smooth, cold texture and shiny tint. Its odd shape and slight curve, looking far too much like a rose petal for it to be a coincidence. But it’s the tiny, fine print etched in the petal that throws Charles off entirely. 

“He Loves Me?” Charles whispers out the encryption, brows furrowing as he looks around the empty corridors. Not believing that something so silly could have actually been anywhere on his person. 

And then Mr. Lehnsherr comes to mind, Erik being the only one who had been close enough to him that day to slip it into Charles pocket. The only one pitiful enough to pull off such a juvenile joke. The only one ‘metallically skilled’ enough to obtain such precise angles and smooth edges so beautifully. 

Charles refuses to waste his time trying to psycho analyze the point behind his colleague’s stunt, regardless of how the words echo in his head. “Do you like roses?” Erik’s voice is deep and vivid and far too sensual in Charles mind as he looks down at the intricately drawn rose on the back of his hand. “When was the last time someone gave you a rose, Charles?”

Charles scoffs and pockets the petal, planning on dropping it into Erik’s coffee first thing on Monday Morning. 

Even so, it had still possessed the potential of being a perfectly bland Saturday had Charles not avoided St. James Street due to the insane amount of potholes that sprouted after last week’s hurricane.

“I suppose it would be terribly rude of me if I just pretended that I did not see you”

“Unbritish,” Erik grins into the open window but doesn’t enter the car just yet. Charles assumes it’s a cautionary pause due to the hostility he doesn’t even attempt to conceal in his arctic blue glare.

“Will you get in before I change my mind,” Charles sighs, regretting his decision already.

When Erik does finally get in, he tosses his backpack into the backseat as if it’s an act he’s done a thousand times. He fastens his seatbelt and drums his hands on the dashboard a little too enthusiastically for Charles liking. 

“So,” Erik’s smile could be considered boyish where it not so insanely daunting. Charles finds it hard to squash his desire to actually hold Erik’s mouth open and count the man’s teeth. “Where are we going?”

“We?” Charles breathes out a short laugh as he pulls onto the road and nearly crosses over into the wrong lane. “We are going to tell me where you live and then I am going to drop you off under whatever bridge it may be before I return home to my lovely bachelor pad on the other side of town where the grass is honestly two shades greener.” 

“Come on, Charlie” Erik whines. “It’s Saturday. I’m new in town. I have no plans. You have no plans.” 

“Why would you just assume I have no plans?” Charles frowns. 

“Just a hunch,” Erik shrugs,“hope even.” 

“Tell me where you live or get out of my car, Mr. Lensherr.” 

“What the hell has made you so antisocial, Charles,” Erik points out more than enquires and although he’s still sort of smiling, his exasperation is beginning to be thoroughly apparent. “What’s wrong with one drink between two adults and some good conversation?” 

“I assure you, my friend,” Charles’ chuckle is malevolent; “You and I will have absolutely nothing to talk about.” 

There is a moment of silence during which Charles thinks he has made his point clear enough for Erik to give up. Then the other man proves him wrong yet again. 

“You didn’t tell me about your conversation with Blondie.” Erik points out truthfully. 

“Alex.” 

“I showed you mine, Charles,” his eyes are still on the road but Charles can hear that annoying amusement back in his passenger’s voice. “Show me yours.” 

Charles frowns, jaw clenching as he wonders what sort of sentence he would face were he to actually throw someone out of a moving vehicle. And he tries desperately hard not to think about the adolescent game that was tactfully suggested behind Erik’s words. Because there is no way he can concentrate on gears and roads signs and pedestrians with images in his mind of Erik pulling down his pants then waiting readily for Charles to do the same. 

“It’s all rather adorable actually,” Charles says with another scoff, remembering the blatant sparkle in Alex’s eyes. “He thinks they’re in love.” 

“You say that as though you don’t believe that they are,” Erik is actually frowning when Charles spares him a glance. 

“Well of course I don’t,” Charles also scowls. “They are confused, hormonal, youngsters who are experimenting the newfound wonders of rubbing genitalia together.” 

“Are you a misanthropist, Charles?” 

“I am a practical adult, Mr. Lehnsherr,” Charles quips, feeling his mood become fouler by the second. “I have been in this business for longer than a day and I know how it goes. Today it’s Alex and Hank, tomorrow its Alex and Angel. Then next week it’s Ms. MacTaggert when she smiles at Alex a little too long and gives him a gold star.” 

“Have you ever been in love, Charlie?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Don’t act foolish, it doesn’t suit you,” Erik counters, deliberate irritation laced in his tone for the first time. It’s cold enough to send subzero waves down Charles’ spine. “It’s a simple question that requires a yes or a no response.” 

“Well,” Charles clears his throat, refusing to relent because he too can be stubborn, “it’s a vast and outlandish emotion that means something different to whoever is experiencing said emotion at-”

“Yes or no?”

Charles clenches his jaw, lips tightening into a thin line before he forces out the simple lie. “No.” 

“So forgive me for not taking your uneducated opinion into account in this particular situation,” Erik says calmly. “Any idiot would be able to see that what we witnessed back there was way more than adolescent infatuation, Charles.” 

Then Charles freezes before his retort can be verbalized, startled when he feels those dangerous, metal-welding fingers curl around his wrist, thumb pressing against his thudding pulse that betrays his otherwise dispassionate features. 

“Any idiot would be able to tell that there’s something undeniable happening between the two of us.” 

And Charles remembers the way he’d held his breath when he first looked into Erik’s eyes, how he’d swayed the first time Erik had gotten too close. He recalls how he’d shivered when Erik had skated ink over his hand and felt ever so slightly empty when Erik had left his classroom. 

And then Charles chuckles because it is all too ludicrous to be anything thought about by anyone as sane as he prides himself on being. 

“I believe that’s why I’m glad I’m not an idiot,” Charles says with finality that is punctuated with the way he shakes his passengers hand off of himself none too gently. “Your address Mr. Lehnsherr.”

“Here’s fine,” Erik says after a long cold silence.

“Here?” Charles looks around them skeptically, knowing the street well enough yet finding it hard to believe that it is exactly where Erik had been intended on being dropped off. 

“Park the car, Xavier,” Erik say lowly, “I can walk it from here.” 

“Alright, then,” Charles relents, pulling over onto the side of the road. Charles wants to say something, polite words of parting even though Erik has done nothing but deliberately rub him the wrong way from the moment they met. But Erik is already wrestling his back out of the backseat and mumbling something about Monday before slamming the door, further angering Charles when he begins his slow yet determined walk in the direction they had just come from. 

Charles sighs, thoroughly exhausted and painfully relieved that he can finally stay true to his earlier promise of avoiding Mr. Lehnsherr by any means necessary. He’s just about to pull back onto the road when something shiny on the passenger seat catches his eye. 

Charles reaches over and lifts the metal petal. It’s just as smooth and well-cut as the first one he’d found. The only difference that Charles notices when he flips it over, is a single added word to the encryption that somehow makes his chest tighten. 

“He Loves Me Not?” 

Charles spends the rest of the day wasting his time trying to psycho analyze the point behind his colleague’s stunt.

*****

It’s not like Alex had never noticed Hank McCoy before that day. On the contrary, it was hard not to notice him. He was always getting awards for new discoveries in science and being absent when it was time for him to actually receive said prize. That is just how Alex had seen Hank, the genius who wanted no recognition. The nerd who wasn’t bullied because he was skillful enough to actually blend in with the walls. 

But the night Alex really noticed Hank, was the night Hank started becoming incapable not to.

Alex had been leaving the gay bar he frequented on every other Friday night when his parents thought he was with friends and his friends thought he was obligated to be with family. It just so happened that that particular night there were a group of chauvinists leaving their own as well. 

Alex remembers the homosexual slurs; he remembers countering every one of them. Alex remembers being so drunk that he couldn’t defend himself from the second guy after he’d dropped the first, the third taking advantage of their advantage. 

Alex remembers Hank coming to his defense, punching his way through each guy as if he’d been programmed to do so. And then Hank knelt at his side, cradling Alex in a way that made him feel thoroughly protected. 

Alex hadn’t yet known that he’d been bottled, not until later when he’d touched the back of his head and felt the wound. But it didn’t really matter at that moment, not when he was so comfortable in bed, lying on a strong chest and in a secure embrace. Hank’s embrace, Alex had smiled as he looked up at his rescuer.

“You’re a beast, aren’t you,” Alex had clarified more than questioned when he recalled how the ever so usually transparent and gentle boy had ripped his assailants apart. 

Hank simply chuckled and stared into Alex’s hooded eyes in a way that made the blond boy’s heart beat irregularly. 

Alex wanted to kiss him. 

But all he’d had strength to do was hold his classmate tighter before passing out. 

He later woke to an argument, hushed but aggressive. It took him a while to remember where he was, took him a second longer to realize he was still in pain as he crept to the bedroom door that was slightly ajar. And as he peered out, he saw a larger, greying version of Hank pinning actual Hank to the wall. 

“I swear I was just helping a friend,” Hank pleaded more than stated and his –Alex assumed- father’s grip tightened on his shirt. 

“Well if I find out it’s another boy fiasco,” the old man had hissed, punctuating every word by driving his balled up fist into Hank’s chest, “That won’t be his blood on your shirt.” 

When Hank returned to the room, Alex hadn’t had enough time to back away from the door entirely. For a moment, the two of them just looked at each other. Hank, looking confused and Alex a bit startled. 

“How’re you feeling?” Alex realized that that was the first thing Hank had ever said directly to him. 

“I’m alright,” Alex lied, because his head still hurt and his face felt like it had several swollen colors. 

“Then let me get you home,” Hank wasted no time ripping off his blood splotched top, making Alex look down at his own and realize he was ten times worse. An Iron Man t-shirt was thrown at him before he could think to catch it. Alex was too busy watching Hank cover his body with a devastating yellow and black striped golf tee, covering all that strength that Alex knew nobody knew Hank had. Alex let himself picture Hank in football gear. And then in nothing. And then on Hank’s bed beneath him. 

“We should go,” Hank insisted, making Alex realize he was still standing there stupidly. Staring. 

The drive to Alex’s house had been silent, Alex stealing glances at the enigma taking the roads as if he’d been on them countless times before. And then Alex had spent the rest of night thinking about Hank. The rest of the weekend reflecting. The entire English class on Monday morning, glancing at him. Grinning every time Hank had caught him and given him a timid smile in return. 

“I never really thanked you,” Alex had murmured, gently closing the science lab door yet still managing to startle Hank. 

Alex had been at Hank’s side in a heartbeat, fighting the urge he had to rub the taller boy’s back as Hank choked on his orange juice in the otherwise empty lab. 

“I’m sorry,” Hank rasped out after recovering, “I thought I’d locked the door.” 

“Do you always spend recess here?” Alex had enquired, taking in the half eaten sandwich with the crust neatly trimmed off of it. The only thing Alex found more adorable than the brightly colored Avengers lunchbox was the Spiderman comic book opened beside it. Alex hadn’t planned on following Hank, not entirely. He had been curious to see where the other boy actually disappeared to and was in no mood to tackle any more questions about his black eye from his nonchalantly inquisitive football friends. 

“Mrs. MacTaggert gives me the key,” Hank had blushed, drying the stray drops of citrus that had landed on his comic book before slamming it shut. Then he cleared his throat. “How’s your head?”

“Massive headache all weekend but nothing I couldn’t handle,” Alex confessed, leaning on the table beside Hank who still refused to meet his eyes despite Alex attempts to get him to. “Anyway, I just wanted to thank you. I hope I didn’t get you into too much trouble with your dad.” 

That had certainly seemed to do the trick and Hank was suddenly looking at him like a deer caught in headlights. Shocked. Alex immediately felt bad and rushed to explain himself as Hanks face lost color. 

“I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” he stuttered, “I mean, I wasn’t spying. I just happened to see-” 

“It’s alright,” Hank interrupted equally clumsily, “he’s always like that.” 

“Some people just don’t understand,” Alex had consoled, watching Hank fiddle with the button on his blazer’s cuff with shaky hands. Fingers trembling so much that they were loosening the thread holding the button in place and Alex felt deep emotions swell to the surface for the other boy. Because Alex had always assumed Hank was timid until Hank had shown him his unadulterated bravery all in the name of protecting a boy he had never even spoken to. And Hank had held Alex when he was weak as if he’d actually been craving the embrace more than the broken boy in his arms needed it. To see Hank so afraid broke Alex’s heart. To see him alone in the classroom saddened him. Alex didn’t want Hank to be alone or afraid. “I understand, Hank.” 

Alex leaned up and placed the smallest kiss on the dark haired boy’s cheek and it was as if they both realized at the same time, in that moment, that it had sealed their doom. It was supposed to be a reassuring gesture, a tiny way of making Hank certain that he did, in fact, truly understand. But it was too late. And Alex’s heart was pounding, lips tingling as he stared at the crimson spread from Hanks cheeks and leak down into the collar of his white shirt. He briefly noticed Hank’s hands ball up on the table, knuckles turning white split seconds before he leaned in again, lips brushing the side of Hank’s mouth. And Alex only allowed his eyes to flutter shut when Hank turned his head and pressed their lips more firmly together, drawing in a ragged breath as if a simple kiss from Alex was more necessary than air. 

And then, there had been nothing simple about their kiss at all. It instantly heated up, Alex nearly tipping Hank’s chair over as he forced his way between Hank’s legs, Hank pulling him just as forcefully. Hank was taller than Alex, but even sitting, the high lab still gave him an inch more height, forcing Alex to lick up into Hank’s mouth as the pair grew more desperate. Alex had been so dizzy by the sensation that he hadn’t noticed how hands had untucked shirts until he felt Hank’s sweaty palms against his back and he was able to rub Hank’s bare chest beneath far too much clothing. 

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” Alex confessed against Hank’s swollen lips, “how you felt, holding me. I wanna hold you, Hank.” 

“I’ve always thought about you,” Hank confessed in return, causing Alex to pull back briefly. The earnestly dilating Hank’s pupils was enough to make Alex’s cock weep in his pants. A fierce wave of want joining the need and admiration and awe. And something else Alex once thought would be too early to feel so intensely. 

When Alex had tried to move in to resume the kissing he believed he was insane for going so long without, Hank had startled him by pushing away and nearly falling of his chair in his haste.

“I’m sorry,” Alex apologized in disbelief, watching dumbly as Hank made quick work of packing his backpack and heading to the door.

“No,” Hank had frowned, “it’s not that. Just-” 

Alex had finally smiled as a very nervous looking Hank locked the classroom door. He smiled even more when Hank made his way to the storeroom at the back, nodding his head for the blond boy to follow. 

Alex finds himself musing over that first time Hank and he had prematurely stained each other’s school uniforms with mutual satisfaction. It’s been months since that day, but Hank still has a way of exciting Alex entirely. And it isn’t reduced to what they partake in when the doors are locked and clothes come off, it’s everything about Hank that has Alex speeding up winding roads to make sure that his boyfriend is alright. 

Alex smiles at the term even though there’s still a deep sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach every time he remembers the look on Hanks face when they’d been caught by Mr. Xavier and the other strange man. He knows that if he lets Hank dwell on it without proper reassurance that earth is not going to swallow him whole, Hank will work himself up to multiple anxiety attacks. Like the time Alex’s mother had nearly caught them holding hands by the pool after arriving home earlier than she was supposed to. It had taken Alex a full week to convince Hank to talk to him again. But that was the thing about Alex, Alex never gave up. 

Alex will never give up. 

Alex has only seen Mr. McCoy that one time he’d pinned his son against the wall and threatened him with bodily harm. But Alex had listened to Hank speak about his father enough to know how to win the man over. And so even though he’s promised Alex he will never show up at his house unannounced (or ever at all), Alex feels he can break that promise since Hank is currently breaking his own. It is Sunday afternoon and Hank has not bothered answering his calls or replying his text messages, something Hank swore he would never do again. 

So Alex hangs his helmet on his motorbike and pulls a football out of his backpack. He straightens his football jacket and roughs up his hair, falling into the stereotype of what Hank’s father says is the perfect son. He’s grateful that he’s made the effort when it is, in fact, Hank’s father who opens the door. 

“Hello Mr. McCoy,” Alex beams despite the older man’s deep frown, “was just wondering if Hank wanted to throw some ball.” 

“He’s busy now,” Hank’s father says carefully, but still steps aside and holds the door open. “But I’m sure they won’t mind if you join them.”

“Thank you, sir.” Alex nods and enters. And then can’t help but ask, “them?”

“Yeah,” Mr. McCoy points down the hall, “Just keep going straight. Hank and his girlfriend are watching a movie in the lounge.”

Alex doesn’t feel the short walk down the hall; he barely even hears the pair chuckle over whatever is happening in the overly animated movie on the flat screen. All he does feel is his heart break as he watches Hank pull Raven closer into his side and place a gentle, loving kiss on her lips.


End file.
